


Tabula Rasa

by PhenixFleur



Category: Gravity Falls
Genre: Bipper?, Depressing, Gen, Memory Alteration, post-Sock Opera, sorta dark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-26
Updated: 2015-03-26
Packaged: 2018-03-19 18:34:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,999
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3620037
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhenixFleur/pseuds/PhenixFleur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dipper's having one of the best summers of his life in Gravity Falls with his great uncle, even if the cousin also spending the summer in the Mystery Shack is a little mopey. He doesn't understand why she keeps insisting he's her brother, though.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Tabula Rasa

**Author's Note:**

> Set post-Sock Opera, diverges from there on out. No shipping. Originally posted on Tumblr. I am honestly sorry for making Mabel cry. Errors are intentional. 
> 
> Inspired by [this beautiful piece of fanart](http://chikuto.tumblr.com/post/113490183027/youll-never-know-what-hit-you-wont-see-me) by the talented [Chikuto](http://chikuto.tumblr.com/).

Dipper woke up with the midmorning sun streaming through the large triangular window in the attic, muttering to himself as he shielded his eyes with his arm. He really wasn’t a morning person, even though the position of the lighted triangle cast onto the wooden floor suggested that it was nearly afternoon. 

Something about this fact needled at him uncomfortably, but try as he might he couldn’t recall why. It probably wasn’t very important.

Heading into the bathroom to prepare for the day, he stopped to glance at himself in the mirror. Nothing out of the ordinary; brown hair folded over his forehead, obscuring his odd birthmark, slit pupils set in matching brown eyes, lightly tapered at the extremities. At least the birthmark was easy to hide, via growing his hair longer or making use of variety of caps; his eyes were a little more difficult to deal with. He was used to people doing a double-take upon greeting him, but after years of explaining that it was simply a rare birth defect it didn’t bother him as much anymore. 

After showering he returned to the attic to dress, grateful for having the space to himself. It made it a lot less awkward in a variety of situations, and he really did appreciate the peace and quiet. The family friend he’d shared his room with earlier in the summer hadn’t reacted well to his requests for her to use the other guest room in the Mystery Shack, but she’d eventually acquiesced with pressure from his great uncle, Stanley. 

As he began to descend the stairs, he suddenly remembered why waking up so late had bothered him - he was  _late_  for his shift working in the gift shop. “Oh crap.” He ran the rest of the way, hoping Grunkle Stan wouldn’t be  _too_ irritated with him.

The gift shop was relatively deserted, save for a customer rifling through a rack of overpriced T-shirts. To his surprise (and chagrin) the counter was being manned by one of the Shack’s other employees — one he dreaded having to interact with. He averted his gaze, approaching Wendy with a blank expression that he hoped shielded his uneasiness. He didn’t want to see the bewildered pity on her face. “I’m on,” he said carefully; despite his efforts to avoid looking up at her his head lifted of his own accord, and he met her gaze. She was as beautiful as ever, long red hair flowing over her shoulders beneath her signature hat, and even though her eyes indicated that she was clearly tired he couldn’t help the twitch in his chest whenever he looked at her. 

Then he recalled how she’d treated him, a couple of weeks ago during their trip into the abandoned bunker - shrugging off his confession with indifference initially and then actively laughing in his face before departing. “As if I’d be interested in a weird  _kid_.” 

Dipper wasn’t sure what word hurt worse - the criticism of his personality or his age. 

From that point on Wendy tried to act as if nothing had gone wrong between them, but it was hard to recover from that, even as friends, and Dipper finally found himself unable to speak to her under any other circumstances than those that were work-related. The change in their relationship appeared to have stricken her with regret, but she wasn’t the only one. 

"Hey Dipper," Wendy responded, her tone downcast. "You’re not on today, remember?"

Dipper  _didn’t_  remember - as far as he knew he was always on duty around around 11 until 4 whenever the Shack was open for business. “You sure?”  
Wendy nodded. “Yeah. Mr. Pines gave you the rest of the week off.” Then, hesitantly, “…you do remember, don’t you?”

Dipper rifled through his memories, which yielded nothing. Wendy bit her lip as she watched him concentrate, then turned away. “Maybe you should go ask him about it.”

"I guess." Dipper frowned to himself, glancing over his shoulder at his old flame before leaving to find Stan. He could have sworn she looked as if she were going to cry; he told himself he didn’t care. It wasn’t exactly a lie. 

The rest of Grunkle Stan’s house was dusty; he wondered if the place had been cleaned within the last decade. He could recall it having been much cleaner and livelier earlier that summer, but recently the dust bunnies had crept right back in. 

He was halfway to the living room where he, the other guest, his grand uncle and Soos sometimes clustered to watch TV when he slapped his forehead, realizing his mistake. Grunkle Stan was probably out leading a tour of the Mystery Shack and the faux-phenomena surrounding it (the bottomless pit wasn’t exactly fake, and despite it being a scientific impossibility Dipper was really glad he’d managed to avoid falling in.)

With that in mind he made his way outside, opting to hang out on the porch until Stan returned instead of trying to track him down. He wasn’t a fan of the tourists the business pulled in; they were rather noisy. There were a  _lot_  of noisy things at the Mystery Shack that left him feeling irate, especially the other guest. 

Being the middle of summer it was blazingly hot and humid but Dipper appreciated the warmth. He didn’t know if his body temperature was naturally low or not, but he tended to feel cold relatively often. The sun was a blessing, warming his skin and bringing a pleasant smile to his face, eyes beginning to slip shut…

Movement from around the corner caught his attention, and he sat upright, instantly on the alert. The other guest (whose name he had the hardest time remembering, but it wasn’t as if it really mattered all that much; once summer ended he’d return home and she’d return to wherever she came from) approached his cautiously, like a deer in the headlights. Her behavior fascinated Dipper. Upon meeting her for the first time she’d been the very picture of effervescence, constantly chattering and dragging him around, laughing and vivacious like a ray of sunshine. Of course he’d tired of it eventually, and although she put on a brave face he could tell that his noncompliance and disregard for her constant company hurt her. He felt bad over it, but she was too noisy. So noisy…

"Hi, Dipper," she said shyly. She was wearing a fuzzy pink sweater with a decal resembling a jar of strawberry jelly on it; odd fashion choice for July but it suited her. 

"Hey," he said pleasantly; as long as she didn’t open her mouth to ramble he didn’t mind her sitting next to him. She ascended the steps slowly, trembling — maybe she was cold, too? — and then sat on the stool next to him. Dipper wondered if she was a closer relative than he knew her to be; they shared the same hair color, a similar height, they were the same age — almost as if they were twins. Maybe she was a first cousin? He’d have to ask again, but he felt as little embarrassed for not remembering in the first place. 

His cousin(?) sighed, staring out at nothing for a minute before turning to face him. There were puffy, darkened semi-circles beneath her eyes, and her complexion was sallow. “How are you holding up?”

"I can’t complain," Dipper said brightly; he really couldn’t. With the excitement of being away from home and getting to explore the woods around the Shack his interest in the paranormal had grown exponentially. Sure, he hadn’t  _seen_  anything, but that didn’t mean it wasn’t out there. Even with the disappointment of Wendy’s rejection at the small cookout they’d held earlier that month and the heartache it brought the summer was shaping up to be one of his best.

"I see." His cousin turned back to stare at the lawn, and Dipper looked over at her, suddenly concerned with how miserable she looked. "Are  _you_ okay?”

She stiffened, sliding to the side on the stool and turning her back to him. Her shoulders shook, and Dipper could hear the telltale sound of sniffling. “I’m okay.”

"No you aren’t," he said kindly; even if she was noisy and aggravating at times she was still nice to be around, even without the tenuous familial relationship between them. "What’s wrong?"

When she whirled around to face him again she was actually sobbing, hair sticking to her reddened forehead and skin slick with tears. “Dipper, don’t you remember me? I’m your  _sister_.” 

Oh…this again. Dipper sighed, placing his hands on her shoulders and speaking in a tone that he hoped wasn’t patronizing. What was her name again? It definitely started with an M, a short name. Megan, Mandy, Mabel? May? May sounded familiar. “May, I’m an only child,” he said gently. “I don’t mind pretending like we’re twins but we really aren’t. You know that, right?”

  
May dived forward, embracing him tightly and continuing to sob into his shirt, dampening it. “Dipper, I’m your sister. We’re twins. Why don’t you remember me? Was it him? Was it the journal? What happened to you? Don’t you remember me at all?”

_I’ll be here for you, ready to make a deal._

Dipper froze, his heart rate skyrocketing. 

_I can help you, kid_. 

Blue fire and burning pages and the sound of ripping paper and a familiar female voice screaming his name and something hurts, tearing through his chest like a million shards of glass and laughter laughter  _laughter in his head and blue fire, everything’s cold, the edges of his vision are smouldering like the book in his hands and he’s laughing too but there are tears and everything_ _  
__everything is_

_every thing_

The moment lasted for a few seconds of discomfort, like blinking away an eyelash, and when it faded all that remained was a sense of irritation. May still clung to his shirt, wailing,  _noisy_. Damn it. 

The appearance of Grunkle Stanley was nothing short of a blessing. 

His great uncle arrived out of nowhere, heading toward them with a speed that belied his age and all but leaping onto the porch and immediately wrapping May in his arms. Dipper cringed at the sight; they may have been the same age, but his cousin really did act like a child sometimes. 

Stan held her tightly, letting her cry into his shoulder and smoothing her long, bushy brown hair. He muttered words into her ear soothingly, and while they were mostly obscured by the sounds of her anguish he could make out a bit. “…it’s okay sweetie, he’s not gone, I’ll fix it, I promise.”

“He doesn’t remember, Grunkle Stan, he doesn’t remember me…” May whimpered; it was a broken, hopeless sound that grated on his nerves. 

Sensing that he was intruding on something not meant for him, Dipper stood, heading back into the Shack. He could ask about the work shifts later, when Grunkle Stan wasn’t occupied. He felt his great uncle’s gaze burning holes in his back as he departed, but he didn’t look back. Stanley had his hands full at the moment.

With nothing to do aside from avoiding making small talk with Wendy he decided to return to his room for a bit. Maybe read something. He had a couple of mystery novels that he hadn’t touched yet. 

Shutting the door behind him, Dipper picked up a book from the nightstand, confirming that it was one of the ones he hadn’t read before seating himself in the triangular patch of light cast by the window. It was warm there, and he closed his eyes, basking in the sensation. It felt like a gentle embrace, a pair of arms draped over his shoulders, lips against his ear breathing words into the empty expanse of his mind in a voice that _wasn’t_  noise, but a pleasant voice that he could listen to all day long. 

_Oh, my perfect Pine Tree. Such a good puppet._

Dipper smiled, thoroughly content. 


End file.
